Marissa
by Semi-Evil
Summary: ONE-SHOT. Post-PB, post-COR, Riddick's POV. Riddick finds a lonely woman in a small, isolated bar one night and discovers something startling about her. He wants to confess to her what happened on that planet so long ago, but he can't bring himself to


Author's Note: Rated for bad language. All on Riddick's part, though. I was inspired to write this during a little conversation Johns had with Fry during the movie where Fry said "I don't get it, Johns. What is so goddamn valuable in your life that you're worried about losing? Huh? Is there anything at all? Besides your next hype?" Johns never gave a response. I found this a little disconcerting so I decided to embellish on it and give him something he would've found valuable. Review if you'd like.

Disclaimer: I do not own anyone or anything affiliated with Pitch Back/Chronicles of Riddick. Oh, and I'm not making any money off of this...

Summary: ONE-SHOT. Post-PB, post-COR. Riddick's POV. Riddick finds a lonely woman in a small, isolated bar one night and discovers something startling about her. He wants to confess to her what happened on that planet so long ago, but he can't bring himself to get the words out of his mouth...

* * *

Marissa

When I saw the tavern, I thought it was perfect.

It was small and isolated on the far edge of the town, but surprisingly there were more people inside than I expected. Perhaps that's a good thing. I have a better chance of disappearing. I could sit there and not say a word and no one would even realize there's another body taking up a seat. They would be too busy with all of the other drunk idiots in the room.

And this town, damn it was small. But then again, the planet was small. It was the kind of place people like to retire to. The weather is always warm and so is the welcome from the natives. Although, they do tend to get a little edgy when a guy like myself comes passing through.

So this tavern now... God, I can't even remember the name of it anymore. It's been what? Nearly 5 years since it happened? Yeah about that long. It all started about a year after I turned down that damn Lord Marshal shit. What a fucked up culture _that_ was... But yes, I think it's been about 5 years. The little details seem to escape me. But she never will.

I walked into the tavern and immediately found a stool at the far side of the bar, keeping my distance from prying, curious eyes. But nearly everyone in the entire room was drunk or at least getting there. And people tend to lose their curiousity when they're drunk out of their minds. They simply don't care.

I saw that there was a man to my left and a woman to my right. This guy, whoever he was, had five empty beer bottles in front of him and he was holding another one in his hand, which only had perhaps a fifth of it left. He was passed out and his head rested on his free arm. I didn't have to worry about this guy. He was unconsious and off in some better place.

The woman on my other side looked rather bored. To the untrained eye. But if you paid attention, she was thinking. She swirled a single small glass of some unknown amber liquid and stared at it as if it held the answer to all her grief and woes, as if it held the answer but just never told her.

I studied her out of the corner of my eye. No one knew though. Not even her. For all she knew, I was continuing to stare straight ahead at the shelves of random alcohol, deciding what tonight's poison would be.

"Sir"' a small masculine voice inquired.

I tore my gaze away from her and looked up at the man. His dark brows were slightly furrowed and his shaggy brown hair covered a lot of his eyes.

"What'll it be tonight?"

I pondered for a moment. "Just a beer." I didn't want anything to harsh. I have to pilot my own ship, you know.

"What brand?"

"Surprise me."

The man walked away to probably grab me the most expensive brand. It didn't matter though. I was too busy looking at the woman who was looking at me. Her head was slightly turned in my direction and she was blatantly staring at me. When I caught her, she didn't look away, embarrassed, like most would. She simply smiled. It wasn't a bright, cheery, annoying grin, but rather a quirky, wise, and almost sad smile. Her eyes were the same, but I had difficulty picking out what color they were. They were a strange mixture of green, blue, and gray. I might have a shine job, but I know these things.

"People usually don't order a beer around here. Except for that guy." she said, nodding in the direction of the guy to my left. We both looked at him and he grunted and shifted around, still out of it.

I didn't respond as I turned back to look at her. She didn't seem at all intimidated or uncomfortable by that. And she wasn't drunk either. She didn't have that glassy, dazed look in her eyes. She seemed fully alert and aware of what was going on around her. "I'm Marissa." she said as she held out her hand.

I fucking hate shaking hands. For some reason it just annoys the hell outta me. But I did it anyway. And now that I look back, I don't even know why.

She had a firm but delicate grip. And once again, I found myself studying her through my goggles. She was stunning, absolutely beautiful. But not in that exotic or seductive way most men think. Most would see her as just an average female and many wouldn't go out of their way to have her. Not like she would let them, anyway. She had this certain power, this certain strength about her. And I'm not talking physical seeing as she had such a small body structure. She was petite. Her power seemed to stem more from her intellect and will. She just glowed with... something more. Perhaps I'm making too much of an issue out of this, so I'll shut the hell up about it now.

But she sat there silently, calmly, waiting for me to introduce _myself_ now. That was another thing I hate to do. People always seem to know my name and who I am and those that didn't, once I told them they'd get whiny and scared about it. So I like to mix and match names now.

And that's just what I did. And that's just the reason I'm telling you all of this now.

"William," I said, now trying to think up some last name. "Richards." I don't know how anybody in the fucking _universe_ could believe that was my name, but she did. If she didn't though, she didn't say anything and didn't give any hint that she doubted my truthfullness.

Once again, she smiled. "My husband's name was William." She looked away, her short redish brown hair covering her profile from me, and began to swirl the liquid around in her cup. She seemed to do that when she was thinking.

I nodded my head and looked at the full beer bottle that now sat in front of me. I was right. It was the most expensive. I sighed. That prick.

I don't know what made me choose William, the name of one of the men I hated most in my life. It was strange, and I never did it before then and I haven't done it since.

"What's you're last name?" I don't know what made me say it. It just happened and was over with and the words were out of my mouth before I could comprehend the consequences of what I just did.

She seemed unaffected though. "Johns." she said far more quietly than she usually did, still swirling her glass around.

I had opened my beer and was about to down it when I stopped abruptly, after putting two and two together. Her name was Marissa Johns. Her husband's name was William, William Johns. Her husband was the arrogant merc who tried to bring me back to Slam, he was the one whose death I brought about.

I turned my head and nearly my entire body to look at her. She stopped swirling her cup, sensing I was staring, and she looked up at me, a spark of grief lingering in her eyes.

"What?" she said with a forced smirk. "You recognize the last name? It's probably my late husband you're thinking of." She looked at her glass and, for the first and only time that evening, I saw her take a small sip of it. "You know him?"

"We've... met." I felt bad, horrible, and that feeling was only going to get worse.

"He was a good guy, and I was in love with him. Of course, he had his dark points, like every other person." She looked at me strangely, like she knew something about me that she shouldn't.

I assumed that by 'dark points' she meant his life a a merc, but then again, he might've never told her he was one.

"He lived a double life, I suppose you could say. One with me, and one with his job, but I accepted it." Yeah, she definitely knew he was a merc. "I knew his job was dangerous and I knew there were risks..." she stopped for a moment, and I thought that she would continue, but she stayed silent.

"There are risks in every job." I said, trying to push her to continue her thought. I was being unusually nice to this woman, perhaps it was because I took her husband from her. At the time, I could've never imagined telling her what happened. But soon, I began to want to.

"Of course there are risks. But I was hoping for the best. But being... a merc... never seems to come with the best." This was definitely Johns' wife. I can understand why he would want to be with her. She represented everything stable, she represented love. But I can never understand why she would want him. She said he was a 'good guy' but was he hiding his true self from her? Or was he hiding his true self from all the fugitives he captured or killed?

Then I asked her a question I shouldn't have even cared enough to think about. "Do you know how he died?"

"No. All I know is that it was about six years ago and he was transporting some escaped convict, Riddick, I think his name was, back to the Slam. I heard rumors that the ship crashed on a planet and both of them died. That's not what happened. I know it's not." Once again, she looked at me in that strange way. It was almost like she was suspicious of me, like she believed I had some ulterior motive to these questions or that there was something more to me that I just wasn't telling her... which was true. "And then... he just never came home."

I wanted to tell her what happened. Give her some closure.

"I miss him."

Oh God, did I want to tell her, but I couldn't bring myself to get the words out of my mouth. I never responded, and she went for her glass and began her ritualized swirling, this time focusing more intently than ever on the liguid.

For some strange reason she never asked me about myself. I didn't know it then, but I know now that she was just looking for someone to talk to. And what a person to choose. The man who mercilessly brought upon her husband's death. I felt like shit. Not for killing him, but for the way she felt because of what I did. I had never seen anyone so calm but so grief-stricken over anything before in my life. There were only two other women in my life that I felt so horrible over, and both of them are dead.

I decided it was time to leave. This guilt was making my stomach churn.

Damn the bartender that gave me the expensive beer that I didn't even drink. He wasn't getting anything out of me now.

I glanced around the rest of the tavern and realized that she and I had blocked out all the noisiness and confusion of the bar. All the smoke, all the drunken laughter, all the different smells of the different liquors. It was just us and the little bubble of our conversation. And the guy on my left was still happily passed out.

She could tell I was getting edgy just by the shifting I made in my seat. She looked at me and and set her glass down on the table. "Leaving so soon? You didn't even finish your beer."

She knew I wanted out. "Can't stay. I just stopped in town to pick up a few provisions. Any more questions?" I asked sarcastically.

She chuckled. "I'll see you around then, William." A brief chill went down my spine. No she wouldn't. She'd never see me again if I had anything to do with it. I couldn't stand being around her. Not because I hated her, but because I was hating myself because of her. And I was getting angry.

As I stood up and began walking away, I heard her sigh lightly. When I glanced over my shoulder for a brief second I saw her head slightly bent down and once again she was swirling her drink around in her glass. She was thinking about him. I could almost hear the wheels turning in her head.

"I wish I knew what really happened. Perhaps one day I'll find out."

The small portion of conscience I still had, spurned on by Kyra and Caroline, of course, demanded I go back and spill my dishonest, murdering, cold-hearted guts out to the woman. But it was just that cold-heartedness that prevented me from doing so. 'The damn woman can take care of herself. She's strong. And besides, she's probably gotten over his death. It's been six years.' I now know that that was just my way of making excuses for myself and weasling my way out of regret... which I now feel anyway. I know that I will regret that decision until the day I die. No excuse can save me because no excuse can reverse time. There's been very few times in my existence that I've felt so horrible, and I never thought I'd feel that way again.

Hmm, I'm going way too soft with women for my own good.

So I left the bar and the minute I stepped out the door, I put Marissa to the back of my mind. Or at least I wanted to. I tried to tell her. I really did, but my body wouldn't let me. 'I tried.' I say to myself, even to this day, every time she crosses my mind. But trying is not enough. Because I still feel like shit.

Trying is not enough. It never was with Caroline, it never was with Kyra... and it never will be with Marissa.

And I know that my redemption will come from her finally knowing what happened and how it happened. My salvation lies in simple honesty, now. Simple honesty and simple truth.

Looks like I'm gonna fuckin' burn now, but I'm pretty sure I was anyway.


End file.
